


Maybe another time, in someplace long forgotten

by Lenami



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bowtruckle (Harry Potter), Gen, He still became Voldemort though, Melancholy, Memories of Tom Riddle, Mentioned Newt Scamander, Minerva McGonagall is amazing, Teen Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle Senior has shitty experiences with magic, Tom Riddle didn't kill his father, Tom Riddle was human once, Tom's shitty childhood, angsty, i guess, i think so, idk if there is any fluff, missing memories, they are the cutest!!!, you tell me - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26326564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenami/pseuds/Lenami
Summary: “Three more memories, Harry. I never knew if they were essential and at last, I decided against it. I might make a big mistake not showing them to you: I can’t say for sure it wasn’t my personal beliefs that influenced that-” the note read. It wasn’t finished and the paper was messy, Dumbledore scratched out few sentences, many words. On all of the bottles there was written Tom’s name, always in tiny letters, messily, like Dumbledore hoped they would disappear with time if he only managed to make them smaller."He had a memory that actually belonged to Tom’s father? And he thought it didn’t matter that much?" Harry wondered, trailing with his finger the words “Riddle Senior”. The other bottles had familiar names on them and he looked at them with almost as much disbelief; Minerva-1944, Hagrid- 1942....Harry finds missing memories of Tom Riddle.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Minerva McGonagall & Tom Riddle, Rubeus Hagrid & Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle & Tom Riddle Sr.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Maybe another time, in someplace long forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!   
> I just wanted to preface this fic by saying that I know that in "Fantastic Beasts" we see adult Minerva McGonagall already teaching at Hogwarts but originally she was around year older than Tom and I refuse to believe new canon, so... well, she is here and she is older only a year than him.   
> Two other things: 1. Tom two times here says "Jesus Christ", not "On Meriln's beard" as wizards say, because he grew up in muggle orphanage, so I think that he would sometimes forget and slip up.   
> 2\. I wanted to say that I don't want to blame Tom Riddle Senior for not taking care of his son, because Merope basically raped him (she took away his free will when he was conceived). Tom doesn't exactly knows that this happened, so he does blame his father- but this is not my own personal opinion.
> 
> Well, that's all, I hope someone can enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Harry never felt necessarily fond of the Pensive- but he didn’t mind it either. Memory was a messy thing. When professor McGonagall sent him the box with Dumbledore’s note and memories, he was surprised. Was there any need for Riddle memories anymore? “ _Three more memories, Harry. I never knew if they were essential and at last, I decided against it. I might make a big mistake not showing them to you: I can’t say for sure it wasn’t my personal beliefs that influenced that-”_ the note read. It wasn’t finished and the paper was messy, Dumbledore scratched out few sentences, many words.

 _Why did he save them for later? Why couldn’t he bring himself to show them to me?_ He thought, staring at one of the tiny bottles, silver memory inside of it moving restlessly. The etiquette simply read: _Riddle Senior_

 _He had a memory that actually belonged to Tom’s father? And he thought it didn’t matter that much?_ He wondered, trailing with his finger the word “Senior”. The other bottles had familiar names on them and he looked at them with almost as much disbelief; _Minerva-1944, Hagrid- 1942._

On all of the bottles there was written Tom’s name, always in tiny letters, messily, like Dumbledore hoped they would disappear with time if he only managed to make them smaller.

Harry hid the Riddle memories for a few weeks, afraid of what he might see in them but he couldn’t stop his curiosity for much longer.

He started with the oldest one.

* * *

“Fuck!” 

Both Harry and Hagrid from the memory jumped at loud curse coming from somewhere near the lake. Hagrid stood up from where he was sitting on the bench to look around for the source of noise.

Twelve-year old Hagrid stared in astonishment at young Tom Riddle, who was making his way through the snow with visible difficulty, only to scrunch a piece of parchment he was holding in his hands and fling it into the lake angrily. It was unmistakably Tom, with his dark hair and handsome face, but he certainly lacked his usual composure.

“Stupid fucking Albus Dumbledore and his stupid fucking expectations-” He muttered to himself, not noticing that he had company. “I did everything perfectly!”

He cursed again and kicked a nearby tree with fury.

“Ow! Christ! Fuck!”

Harry was surprised to hear a trace of cockney accent in his voice.

 _It makes sense; The orphanage he grew up in was in London. He must have taught himself to sound posh._ He realised.

Hagrid and Harry watched as Tom Riddle, future Lord Voldemort, was having complete fucking breakdown before them. He still didn’t notice the audience, too busy talking to himself and pacing. He buried hands in his hair, messing it up and muttering something too quietly for them to hear it until eventually, he just sat on the snow, not caring for the cold, his expression resigned.

Tom took out of his pocket one more piece of parchment, looking at it like it was the vilest and the most disgusting thing in the world. He grimaced and threw it behind his back, but this time without much energy. He flopped onto the snow lifelessly, looking up at the grey sky.

The world went still. Tom’s jet-black hair contrasted sharply with the whiteness surrounding him. He looked sick: skinny- downright starved, with unhealthy flush on his cheeks.

The silence between them suddenly broke when Hagrid moved; his steps were heavy, unbalanced. Tom instantly jumped up, turning to glare at him.

“You- your name is Riddle, right? Tom Riddle?” Hagrid reluctantly came closer.

“Yes” Tom pressed his lips into tight line, squinting at Hagrid suspiciously. “Do you need anything?”

He looked Hagrid up and down, who, despite being just twelve, towered over fourteen-year old Tom.

“No. It’s just- are you alright?”

“And how does this look?” He gestured vaguely at his surroundings. “Nothing. I am perfectly fine.”

There was slight irony in his voice, but Harry doubted that Hagrid understood it.

“You threw something in the lake. You shouldn’t do that, because the Giant Squid may eat it and fall ill.” Hagrid sat on the ground next to Tom, looking at him with curiosity.

“Oh, that was my transmutation essay and Squid can choke on it, as far as I am concerned.”

 _How the hell isn’t he freezing in that coat? And those shoes?_ Being this close, Harry could see Tom better, as well as his thin, worn clothes. And his shoes were even worse: Harry noticed a big hole in the sole of one of them, in the other one the sole has almost completely came off, the leather was worn, shoelaces ripped; there was no help for those, even with magic.

Hagrid gasped, outraged.

“No, no, you probably don’t know it, but we should care about it, it’s part of Hogwarts history, it’s been here for two hundred years and it’s under protection by law-”

Tom turned to look at him properly this time, probably wondering who the hell was he talking to.

“And besides, why would you throw essay into the lake?”

“Because it wasn’t good enough, obviously.” Tom’s voice was unpleasant. He curled into himself, back hunched.

Hagrid reached behind him and picked up second parchment from where it laid on the snow. It was filled with text; all neat, narrow letters. At the bottom was written single sentence in familiar handwriting: Harry instantly recognized it as Dumbledore’s. It read simply:

_Could be better._

“But this is amazing, Riddle. You sound so smart there.” Hagrid stared at the parchment.

“Could be better.” Answered Tom bitterly. “Or so professor Dumbledore thinks.”

“If something happened with professor, you should talk to him, he isn’t- like the other teachers.”

Tom scowled.

“You are a Gryffindor, aren’t you?” He said with malice. “Well, I am a Slytherin, so I can’t count on someone to give me a better mark because of sympathy.”

He tore the paper out of Hagrid’s hands.

“If it was anybody else’s paper, he would say it’s perfect. Because it is, I spend _hours_ on it. He doesn’t want me to become a prefect next year, so he lowers my grades.”

“Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t do anything like that!” Hagrid lashed out. “He likes all of his students.”

“Not me.” Tom smiled bitterly.

Hagrid opened his mouth to answer him, but nothing came out. He reached into his pocket to gently pull out tiny, green creature.

“Riddle.” He said quietly. “Do you want to see something?”

Tom just shrugged.

“It’s a bowtruckle.” Hagrid came closer, so Tom could see it better. “Do you want to hold him? I mean, I don’t know if he will let you, sometimes he is afraid of the strangers, but usually it’s alright.”

Tom stared at the creature with fascination. He nodded, somewhat unsure, and let Hagrid put it gently on his extended hand. Bowtruckle jumped on it eagerly and wrapped its tiny arms around his thumb.

“He likes you.” Hagrid grinned. Tom smiled too- it was a faint smile, but a real one.

 _I have never seen him like this._ Harry thought, surprised.

“I got him from Newt-, I mean Mr. Scamander, when he visited Hogwarts last time. He asked me to let him out in the Forbidden Forest when the spring starts, but for now he stays with me.”

“Why are you showing me this?” Tom turned to Hagrid and bowtruckle tugged on his sleeve, asking for attention.

“I thought it might… take your mind off things.”

“Thank you.” His voice was quiet and Harry was surprised by the sincerity he spoke with. He could swear Tom smiled, just a little- but it faded within a second.

“You didn’t have to, but thank you.”

They sat in silence for a while. Hagrid glanced at him nervously.

“Riddle, is this true-” He started, voice unsure. “-is this true that you are a Parseltongue?”

Tom seemed bored, he chewed on his words for a while before answering.

“Yes.” He sighed. “I told only two people, but I guess you can’t stop rumours from spreading.”

“That’s amazing!” Hagrid’s face lit up at his words. “Could you show me how you talk to snake one day? In spring, I mean, when they come out?”

Harry couldn’t read Tom’s expression fully. The boy turned his absent gaze to look at the lake.

“Sure.” He shrugged. “If you really want to.”

* * *

It was an unusually cold summer day and many Londoners decided to hide from rain and wind in café. Harry looked around crowded room and he instantly spotted Tom Riddle Senior sitting by himself in the corner. He was much older than in the memory Dumbledore has shown him years ago but he was still the same handsome Tom Riddle he remembered. He looked bored with his newspaper, eyes skipping over the text.

But he wasn’t really alone, no; young Riddle made his way through the crowd in the café, looking out of place in his worn clothes. Rain soaked him completely and dark hair stuck to his sickly pale forehead as he brushed it back impatiently.

“Is this Mr. Riddle?” Older man didn’t notice the boy standing next to the table until he spoke up. Water from Tom’s chin dripped onto the countertop and for a second, anger flashed on boy’s face.

Riddle Senior’s eyes widened as if he could recognize himself in Tom’s features.

“Yes.” He folded the newspaper, eyeing his son with visible distaste. “Are we acquainted with each other?”

“I am afraid that we are not.” Tom smiled coolly, but there was nervousness peaking from behind his mask.

“How can I help you, then?”

“My name-” Tom sat down at the table without any invitation. “-happens to be Riddle too. Tom Riddle.”

Older man opened his mouth to speak, but Tom didn’t let him, continuing:

“And I have every reason to suspect that you are my father.”

He stared into Riddle Senior’s eyes unblinkingly. Tom Senior mirrored his son’s cool smile perfectly, folding hands on the table before him.

“Did your mother send you here?”

There was undeniable shock on Tom’s face but he regained his composure quickly. The only sign of his nervousness was the tension in his arms. Under the table, he squeezed his wand stronger.

“I never met my mother.” He pressed his lips into tight line. “She died when I was born.”

“I guess-” Older man smiled, as if he relished in news of Merope’s death. “-there is no use in denying that you are my son. It’s all in your face. Merope got what she wanted in the end, after all; mini me. I knew this day would come one day.”

“You knew about me?” Tom’s face stilled into panicked mask. He leaned back in his chair, fingers gripping the edges of his seat. “Why didn’t you come for me?”

 _He sounds like a little boy._ Harry thought, looking at the scene with feeling of upcoming catastrophe.

"Tell me, son, how did you find me here?” Riddle Senior tapped his fingers on the table. He bit his lip, looking stern and scared at the same time.

“I have my ways.” Tom answered vaguely.

“’You have your ways!’” Riddle laughed bitterly. “I know your ways. You are the same as your mother, aren’t you?”

“The same as my mother?”

Harry could see Tom’s hands shaking slightly.

“A witch.” Riddle whispered, suddenly unsure of himself.

Tom’s fingers twitched impatiently and he shifted in his place.

“A wizard.” He put his hands on the table, still holding his wand tightly.

Riddle flinched back at the sight of it. His breath quickened.

“What is it you want? Money? Connections?” He spoke quietly, visibly terrified. He reached into his pocket and took out packet full of pills but he didn’t open it, hands shaking.

“I wanted to see my father.” Tom’s chin trembled. “After all of those years of rotting in the orphanage. After years of living in the filth, starved, cold, alone. You left me there. You left your son there.”

Riddle was almost hyperventilating, barely able to speak.

“No- no- your mother did it- she-” He shook his head.

“Legilimens!” Tom hissed and memory was suddenly distorted, images flashing before Harry’s eyes.

_“Tom, Tommy, my husband-” Merope’s voice was sweet, so sweet. Her hands reached for him, reached for Tom and he didn’t want it, no. But something told him to reach back, to touch her. There was no other way. There was no other way._

_A baby. A little devil. A little devil born out of the witch, crawling out of her belly. He felt nausea at the thought, curling in the bed behind her, looking at her hair splayed on the pillow. It would be so easy, so easy to get rid of her now, hands coming to her throat._

_“Calm down, Riddle! There is no one here.” Nurse said, her voice sharp and unpleasant. His hands shook as he clung to the hospital bed, crawling away, crawling away from the needle in her hands._

_“No, no, no- there won’t be any medicine today! I am fine, perfectly fine” He stuttered, hands raised to protect himself._

_Fine until she comes, fine until she comes for him-_

_Sharp pain in the neck put him out of his misery._

_Children in the Wool’s orphanage were lined before him, like in all other orphanages he visited before, but now it was different, it was different because the boy was here._

_The boy with his face, dark eyes and dark hair, skinny and pale._

_"See?” He turned to face his father. “I told you so. I told you I wasn’t crazy-”_

_The boy clung to him desperately, big hungry eyes staring at him._

_"Are you special, Tom?” He asked, leaning down to take a better look at the child._

_“Yes.” The boy breathed, excited._

_“How so?”_

_“I can talk to snakes. All of them. They come to me.” Little Tom smiled, reaching for his father once again but Riddle stepped back, frightened. There was no one there to see._

_There was no one to see, so he left._

Memory came back to normal; they were back in the café. Riddle Senior steadied himself on the table, breathing heavily.

“What did you do to me- what did you do?” He repeated over and over. “What did you do to me-”

Harry glanced at Tom and he almost gasped in surprise.

There were tears streaming down his face.

“You’ve been there- You left me. I didn’t remember.” He stood up shakily, wiping his tears angrily. “How could you? How could you?”

He took one last look at Riddle, who was rocking back and forth in his place, still muttering the same words over and over:

“What did you do to me? What-” 

The sound of pills spilling onto the floor filled the silence as Tom walked away.

* * *

Minerva’s memory started with almost absolute darkness and Harry was afraid that there was something wrong with it, but no; he stood in a dark corridor along a grey cat.

It was her, of course.

 _She always scolded us for running around the castle at night and here she is, breaking rules. And she acted like this was some kind of scandal!_ He thought sourly as he walked behind her.

The door to one of the classrooms was ajar and Harry sighed when he remembered which classroom it was.

The mirror of Erised was there.

He peeked between door to see a familiar figure standing in front of the mirror, frozen, completely still.

Tom.

No mistake about it. 

Minerva stopped before the door, unsure. Finally, she came inside, still completely quiet. Harry watched in fascination as she turned back to herself, from small grey cat to tall, beautiful witch. She was dressed in old-fashioned nightgown. It was the first time he saw her with her hair let loose.

Harry followed Minerva, suddenly remembering that he didn’t really have to try to stay quiet, because whatever was happening here, has already happened more than fifty years ago.

“Riddle!” She hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Jesus Christ!” Tom jumped, startled, and turned to face her. “Did you have to sneak up on me like that? And besides, I could ask you the same question.”

They eyed each other suspiciously. Tom didn’t look too well with dark circles under his eyes, still dressed in day clothes, dark robes melting into darkness around him. He crossed arms on his chest.

“I happen to be a head-girl! And I am already seventeen, Riddle.” She pressed her lips into tight line, as she always did when she was displeased.

“Just take the points from Slytherin and let me go.” He leaned against the near desk, looking tired.

“Riddle-” She came closer to him, concerned look on her face. “I know that it’s not like you- Usually, you wouldn’t let anyone catch you breaking rules, wouldn’t you?”

She smiled faintly, but it wasn’t a happy smile, not really.

“If something worries you, you can talk to any of the professors. Professor Slughorn would love to give you some advice. You can talk to me, even.”

“Your concern is moving, but I am perfectly fine.” He avoided her gaze.

She sighed and came even closer, standing in front of mirror by his side.

“When I look into it, I see my mother with me, using magic again.” She turned to look at him. “You wouldn’t be here, staring into the mirror instead of sleeping, if there wasn’t something bothering you.”

Something in Tom’s expression shifted. He played with the dark ring on his finger anxiously.

“I went to see my father this summer.” He said after moment of silence, eyes still down. “I thought that maybe- maybe my mother took me away and he didn’t know- it was delusional. He doesn’t want me.”

His voice went higher, threatening to break down.

“He never did.”

“Oh, Tom-” She put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. He looked at it, surprised, but he didn’t push it away.

“He is here, in the mirror.” Tom gestured at it with something akin to helplessness, angry note in his voice. “He looks just like me, you know? _Exactly_ like me.”

 _He saw his parents in the mirror. Like I did. At least when he was young._ Harry realised with surprise. Something unpleasant flipped in his stomach. _He was human once. He was human once and I am only seeing this now._

“I am so sorry, Tom.” Minerva looked at him as if it was the first time she saw him. Reluctantly, she came even closer and hugged him awkwardly. Her hair spilled on his old, worn robes He froze, startled, unused to the touch. After a while, he rested his dark head against her shoulder, bringing his hands to her back. Harry could see that he was shaking slightly, long, pale fingers clenching tightly on her nightgown. His eyes were closed, dark lashes resting against his cheeks. For a split second, he looked like he was sleeping.

“I don’t think you should be sitting around here alone, Tom.” Her voice was quiet, no more than a whisper. She had enigmatic expression on her face.

“You don’t say?” He sighed, letting go of her. His words came out more awkward than sarcastic, as which they were probably intended. He fidgeted, avoiding her eyes.

“Go back to your common room.” She took a step back, once more gazing at the mirror.

When he didn’t move, lost in thoughts, she repeated:

"Go, if you don’t want to lose half of your House’s points!”

Harry could swear he saw a faint smile on his lips. He sighed once again but he took her advice, only stopping at the exit to look at her once more.

“Thank you, Minerva.”

* * *

Harry had bitter taste in his mouth after going through the Riddle memories. There was no point in dwelling on them, but he couldn't stop himself. He laid down on the floor of his office, looking at the bottles. Rain behind the window beat into the roof furiously, like the world itself wanted to scream and weep. 

_Professor, why didn’t you show me them?_ He thought, wondering if Dumbledore could hear him from beyond the grave. He wondered if Tom- or whatever was left of him could hear him too. _I know the human part of you disappeared a long time ago, Tom. But I have a memory of it._

He remembered Tom’s hunched figure before the mirror, Riddle Senior’s scared eyes. He remembered bowtruckle holding onto Tom’s finger affectionately, _“Could be better”_ written by Dumbledore’s hand and Tom’s dark hair against Minerva’s white shoulder.

_I am sorry that it went like that, Tom._

_Another time. Maybe another time._

He closed his eyes, image of his parent under his eyelids.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I would be extremely thankful for any kudos or comments!
> 
> I know that I wrote Tom from Hagrid's memory to be kind of oversensitive asshole but I think that he was this kind of person to base his self-worth on his academic performance, so that is why he is so agitated. What do you think?


End file.
